#hinge and bracket

[neil-gaiman]

dear mister gaiman,

every time i see crowley as nanny ashtoreth, he reminds me of a very amazing female impersonator who i grew up with and loved as a teenager and who just recently passed away as i had to unfortunately find out. his name was george logan and he played dr. evadne hinge of "hinge and bracket" with patrick fyffe back in the 80s and 90s.

i had completely forgotten about them until that particular scene with crowley. and upon googling how george was doing (since patrick died way too soon), i found out about george's death. i was (still am) very heartbroken, because they were AWESOME!!!!! especially their live shows / gala evenings. but it prompted me to re-watch their tv show again and i re-discovered my love for gilbert & sullivan operettas. (i could actually picture aziraphale listening to those every now and then).

in general i see a lot of crowley and aziraphale in evadne and hilda's personalities. one is dark, the other is blond. one is moody, the other is always cheerful and too pure for her own good. even the bit of naivity aziraphale has going on screams hilda to me. it's such a treat to find similar behavioral patterns like that and it makes me love good omens so much more now.

i just wanted to share this little thought with you without asking any other questions since i am sure you have a ton to answer.

i hope you are doing well. greetings from berlin.

That made me smile.

Here's a little moment of Hinge and Bracket for those people who have never experienced them:

[purplewillowchicken]

INTERVIEWER: You two are the next Morecombe and Wise. (British comedy double act. Much beloved)

MICHAEL SHEEN: Hinge and Bracket more like!

This is Hinge and Bracket. A 1970s, high brow, drag act. It's so them.

@neil-gaiman write something. Make this happen.

[elicatkin]

Tributes pour in for pioneering drag star George Logan

[kobriena]

RIP George Logan. 

The Dr Evadne Hinge to Patrick Fyffe’s Dame Hilda Bracket.

They were bloody brilliant.  And no-one gave a toss they were drag acts, they were talented and funny.

[dropouttvpollbrackets]

It's time for a mini-bracket!

Yes, I know we are right in the thick of a bracket already, but I thought maybe now that half our contestants have been eliminated, we could take a moment to reflect on those that did not make the cut in round 1 and, moreover, why they didn't.

That's right - we are going to pit the losers of our Most Unhinged Cast Member Bracket against one another to determine who is, in fact, the most hinged! After all, what is comedy without a straight man? What is a DnD party without someone who read the rulebook and actually keeps everyone on track? What is a game show without the occasional contestant who cares a normal amount and is just here to have a good time? So this mini-bracket is a shout out to the hinged heroes of Dropout - they may be in the minority, but the chaos wouldn't be the same without them.

This mini-bracket will consist of just three rounds, lasting 1 day each. To keep this quick and get it finished before round 3 starts, we'll start out with four polls of four cast members each before switching to one-on-one polls for the semi-finals and final.

Now, without further ado, let round 1 of the mini-bracket of hingedness commence!

[girls4etho]

im going to kill myself and take this door with me

[gone2soon-rip]

GEORGE LOGAN (1943-Died May 19th 2023,at 78).British musical comedian,best known for his drag character of Dr Evadne Hinge,alongside Patrick Fyffe’s Dame Hilda Bracket,in their televisoon series Dear Ladies,and frewquent appearance son 70′s and 80′s tv and theatre,with their comic musical characters Hinge & Bracket.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hinge_and_Bracket

[practicalsolutions]

Man, I love designing brackets.

[passionoverfashion]

Kitchen Dining in Portland

Eat-in kitchen design with a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, marble countertops, white backsplash, subway tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and an island in a mid-sized traditional u-shaped room with medium tone wood flooring.

[delirious-donna]

Morning Epiphany [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: cockwarming with Hiromi was suggested to me when I opened my requests/ideas for this wonderful man and I immediately leapt on it because YES!

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: cockwarming, reader being the teeniest bit mean to poor Hiro, whining and whimpering from the lawyer…

Masterlist

“Hiro… it’s so early, why are you in here?”

The sun had barely begun to crest, the earliest rays warming the bedspread that was surprisingly empty. A hand reaching out to your husband’s side confirmed the first stirring of your consciousness, he wasn’t here, and if he wasn’t here then there were only two places he could be.

Despite the lure of sleep trying to coax you back into the cozy haze of dreams, you couldn’t possibly sleep when your other half was missing, and so early too. The blinking lights of the alarm clock signalled the hour and helped to push your feet to the rug by the bed, stretching and pouting.

The bathroom was empty, there was no remnant of steam from the scalding hot showers he took every morning and you scowled at your dishevelled reflection in the mirror. Your hair stuck up at odd angles, eyes puffy from how quickly you got out of bed and your sleepshirt—an old well-worn sweatshirt of Hiromi’s—was creased beyond belief.

Your steps took you towards the office and the scent of freshly brewed coffee that wafted enticingly into your nose. The door creaked on antique hinges, your missing man turning with his brow furrowed from having his concentration broken. The expression shifted into a smile almost immediately, a sheepish smile at that.

“Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to,” he apologised sincerely, settling back in his chair to stretch his arms up and over his head. The wide sleeves of his black t-shirt, now faded to grey at best, pushed back and your eyes dipped to the hint of black happy trail that peeked from beneath the hem with a sigh of appreciation.

Hiromi couldn’t help but chuckle. Hastily he fixed his face with a look of admonishment, one sleek eyebrow rising near to his hairline. “Eyes up here, Mrs Higuruma.”

“Sorry—wait. Why am I apologising? It’s the arse crack of dawn, what are you doing up let alone working?”

His eyes drooped, nervously fidgeting with the pen on his desk.

Before he could respond, you grabbed the back of his chair and scooted it out further from the desk to his confusion. The lines wrinkling his forehead smoothed out when your knee bracketed his hip, followed by the other until you sat straddling his lap. Your fingers ran through the limp strands of the hair hanging near into his eyes, humming at the glorious warmth of his body melding into yours.

“Epiphany moment?” Hiromi offered uncertainly. He was too preoccupied by the soft squish of your hips and backside, hands full of the meat of you, and desperately trying to will his cock not to harden any further. To his disappointment and your triumph, he was failing miserably.

You planted teasing kisses to his jawline, barely-there touches of your lips until you were decorating his throat and prominent Adam’s apple with wet little marks. “Don’t let me stop you, Hiro… you can pretend I’m not here. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

He dropped his chin, staring at you with suspicious disbelief. Swallowing thickly when you offered your best most innocent looking smile, laying your cheek on his shoulders and drawing one of his hands away from where he was pawing at your rump. “Work, if that’s what you want to do.”

Hiromi groaned and looked skyward as if some answer would arrive if he begged for it hard enough. He knew this game well enough, and not once had he won. He didn’t fancy his odds on this particular day either.

It started out fairly uneventful. Hiromi managed to refocus his attention towards the computer screen and the ruling he had been in the middle of reading when you appeared, but soon enough the words no longer made sense. Your fingertips grazed his chest, delicate scrapes of your nails across the cotton hiding his nipples and it was maddeningly distracting.

Instead of calling it out, knowing it would only result in you doubling down your efforts, he exhaled through his nose and shifted in his seat to give some respite to the erection chafing the waistband of his pyjama trousers. Immediately, he knew it was the wrong move. Your pelvis sunk closer to him, rubbing more friction into his aching length and he swore he could smell your arousal hanging heavy in the air.

He did his best to ignore your naughty fingers moving between you, to pretend you weren’t pulling him free and playing in the mess of precum leaking from his tip. His fingers tightened around the mouse in his hand, the sound of plastic groaning from the onslaught of pressure enough to make him blink and loosen his hold.

“You will be the death of me, love.”

The loose fist around his shaft paused. “Keep working or I’ll go back to bed… alone.” You were slick with arousal, the lack of panties leaving a dark stain on the crotch of Hiromi’s pyjamas that didn’t go unnoticed by either of you. The temptation to lift to your knees and sink down onto his cock was building, but you couldn’t reward him so readily for his leaving you in bed this morning. Not until he was a little more desperate, and by the hue of the rash at his neck and dappling of his cheeks, there was still a little ways to go.

Hiromi was failing fast, and he knew you were waiting to pounce and worsen his predicament. Worsen was hardly the right term given how eager he was to be swallowed by your plush velvet-lined walls, but since you were insistent that he continue to work, he wasn’t going to be rewarded until he did. The pen scratched across the surface of his notepad, the ink drying in shaky lines whilst you cupped his balls and rolled them between your fingers and thumb. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he was writing made sense but if it gave the illusion of cooperation, he’d write utter gibberish all day long.

You held out as long as you could manage, the burning desire palpable on the dewy apples of your cheek and the heat of your breasts hidden beneath your husband’s sweatshirt. At long last you teased his pulsing cock between your folds, tapping the sticky cockhead against your pert little clit and finally lining him up at your entrance. The muscles contracted around him, that first inch a delicious stretch that pushed you to your limits not to slam right down to his fat balls and cry out from the bliss.

The descent was drawn out, testing your patience and resolve to the limits, as well as forcing stuttering breaths out of Hiromi’s heaving chest. You didn’t chastise the return of his hands, the adoration sweeping through his palms as they raised the hem of your sweatshirt so he could see himself disappearing into your pussy. He fisted the fabric, grasping at your hips with eyes heavy with lust and you simply had to taste him, even only for a moment.

Your lips crashed atop his, tongue licking over the seam of his bottom lip and pressing into his mouth to swallow the whine that crawled from his throat. It echoed inside your head, the urge to roll your hips over and over until he filled your belly with his seed burned like a white-hot flame. Your skin itched, fingers curled into claws that dove into Hiromi’s thick head of hair and you nearly didn’t break your kiss, nearly were consumed by the passion you felt in your heart.

“Hmmmpff.” Hiromi wailed when you finally came to some semblance of your senses, your pelvis flush against his but no longer moving. He stared at you in longing, watching whilst you swiped a finger over your kiss-swollen lips and sucked the remnants of his spit from the pad. The smile you offered was purely saccharine, and his throat itched with the need to bounce you on his cock until you gushed all over him and the chair.

“Please?” He asked on a whisper, aquiline nose nudging into your cheek.

“You have your epiphany moment to deal with mister lawyer, c’mon… you can last a little longer. Let me warm you and once I’m satisfied, I’ll ride you until your legs want to give out,” you purred, mouth at the shell of his ear and leaving a kiss at the bone just behind.

Silently, he begged and pleaded for mercy on his tainted soul, as if some divine intervention was likely to intercept, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. You were the only divine deity in his world and your determination to give him a taste of his own medicine for abandoning the sacred ritual of morning cuddles was written across your features.

A sweat broke out across his brow as he studied the lines of text on the screen without recognising a single word. A drip of arousal dribbled from the spot you united, dribbling over the seam of his balls to stain the leather seat beneath. You clenched, and he crushed the pen in his hand, palm filled with tiny plastic shards that speared his skin.

“Darling… light of my life—I will do anything, anything, if you’ll just ride me,” he whimpered, discarding the busted pen and grabbing up your hands to kiss earnestly across your fingertips then knuckles. Hiromi was barely restraining the buck of his hips, the warmth almost too much wrapped around his dick but without the friction and rhythm of movement… it wasn’t enough.

Your resolve was being tested once more. The subtle wobble of his lower lip and the sincere longing in his whisky-smoked eyes cracked the shell of your conviction. Easing forward in one languid roll of your hips earned you the most delightful and pitiful whimper you had heard in a long time. His head fell back against the headrest of his chair, eyes screwed shut whilst you felt him twitch within your walls. He might just cum like this if you didn’t do something, and actually, you wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

Never more had you enjoyed cockwarming Hiromi than at this moment, and you vowed to draw it out as long as he could endure.

“Fuck, Hiro… you feel so good. So warm and snug,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into him more. “Five more minutes…”

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

So this is one of those tournament blogs. This one is about gimmick blogs.

Submissions are closed!

I'm honestly shocked that it seems like nobody has done this before.

How this is going to work

So the amount of blogs in this tournament obviously hinges upon how many submissions this gets. I'm going to use the greatest power of two that you can get from the amount of valid* submissions. For instance, if there are 11 submissions, this tournament would have 8 blogs competing.

A gimmick blog can be submitted multiple times, but the ones that get removed from the tournament if the number isn't a power of 2 are the ones who lose a series of polls I will run after the debatable cases are taken care of.

*When I say valid, I mean that the blog is actually a gimmick blog. If a submitted blog is debatably a gimmick blog (which is to say that it's not obviously a gimmick blog, but it isn't just someone who submitted their main and said their gimmick is being cool or whatever), then I will probably run a poll to see if you people consider it a gimmick blog or not.

If you run a blog that was submitted to this bracket and for whatever reason don't want to participate, just let me know

[gretagerwigsmuse]

can't hardly wait

Summary: in which a guy named bradley likes you back on hinge...

OR a prequel fic with the first hinge messages

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader

Warnings: listen i know i have a picture selected for her, i just wanted to have the ice cream comparison and went with this one. also i have all the pics on bradley's profile if you're curious 💁🏼‍♀️ he's just so goddamn cute! written for @roosterforme 's 'rocktober' event and inspired by the replacements song. don't forget to read part 1 to see how the date goes 😉 [image template (x)]

Your phone lit up with a notification, buzzing in its spot on your glass desk. You glanced down at it for a moment before going back to your slide deck - until it buzzed again. It was a Hinge notification. You hadn't been particularly active on the app the last couple days, not wanting to get your hopes up yet again. But you'd made one last ditch attempt on Hinge, liking some guys who were way out of your league - before telling Max he had the go-ahead to set you up with his buddy. Leaning back in your desk chair, you swiped up on the notification.

Oh. It was this one - the pretty one. Bradley.

You scrolled back through his profile one more time, reacquainting yourself with the 6'1" brunet. He had a picture cuddling a chunky French Bulldog, one at a Rolling Stones concert, one with an older guy who was probably his dad, and one where his eyes looked like pools of chocolate, in addition to his main photo. Unbidden, a smile crept across your face. He looked kind, sweet. Even if he didn't say where he worked.

Bradley, you tested the name out.

Without further delay, you pulled up his message:

Did you only like me because I also have a picture eating ice cream on my profile? I guess that means you're not lactose intolerant?

You let out a little giggle and twirled around in your desk chair. Oh, he was sweet (and a little nerdy). No, it's because you're unfathomably pretty and I didn't think you'd actually like me back. Trying not to overthink it, you typed out a response:

bold of you to assume it also wasn't the 'stache...and that i'm not just mainlining lactaid

It was cute, a little cheeky. He typed and deleted his response a couple times, leaving you on the edge of your seat.

How far do you have UVA going in MM this year?

You pursed your lips. Hmph. And went back to scrolling his profile. Ah, there it was - he'd also gone to UVA, though a couple years before you. He also drank, didn't smoke, and was vaccinated and bi. You swiped back to the chat.

Your allegiance to UVA in any sporting event wasn't exactly top of mind, so you had to check your March Madness bracket that everyone in the office had been forced to fill out for team building. Just has you were about to say Elite Eight! Bradley messaged back:

Sorry, that was really lame. I’m not used to this.

You smiled. that has to be a line...

His reply was instantaneous. It's not, I promise! Alright give me one more try. How's this?

In the background, your computer pinged with multiple Teams message notifications, but your eyes remained glued to your phone.

Did you know the moon's actually lemon shaped? And that the Milky Way apparently smells like raspberries and rum?

It was such a ridiculous and silly fun fact that it made you smile. Time to put all that barstool trivia knowledge to good use.

no, bradley, i did not know that. do you only specialize in space fun facts or can i get something else out of you...

----------

Turns out all it took was a smattering of the world's silliest fun facts to get you hooked, and after days of texting you were at the Hard Deck. The beachfront dive bar wasn't exactly your ideal first date location, but it seemed like there was a good crowd inside judging by the excessive number of the cars in the parking lot. As it was, your Uber let you out next to a pale blue Bronco. You smoothed your hands over your dress and checked your hair one final time before heading inside.

You didn’t really date. Not in the same sense that your friends Caroline and Darcy or even Alexa and Max did. The last person you’d gone out with for more than three dates had been your ex-boyfriend Jack and even that relationship fizzled after six months. 

But there was just something about him - about Bradley - that made you think this could be something? Something about Bradley made you giggle at your phone while you read his texts and buy a new dress and get a wax for your date. 

God, please like me. I hope he likes me.

The bell above the door jingled as you entered, suddenly taken aback not only by the amount of people in the bar, but also the Navy paraphernalia doting seemingly every usable surface. Jesus. Did Uncle Sam pay everyone's tab, too?

Scooting out of the way of another group entering behind you, you bit your lip and stretched your neck, looking around the bar for Bradley. What if he wasn't there? What if he saw you get out of your Uber in the parking lot and bailed? No - he wouldn't do that. The Bradley you had gotten to know over the last couple days sent you fun facts and his Wordle score. He asked about your projects at work and what you were having for dinner. He texted with full capitalization and punctuation. At the very worst, you'd hope you'd get an it's not you, it's me text from him.

But your worry was all for naught because when you got closer to the bar, you saw him. And by some sort of miracle he hadn't seen you yet, which gave you ample opportunity to ogle because you seriously needed a minute. God, he was so pretty. His hair looked lighter in person, not as brown, his arms looked so strong even in his unbuttoned light blue oxford, and that mustache? It worked. It really worked.

And he looked nervous? His knee was bouncing and he kept glancing down at the phone propped up on his knee. 7:33pm - you were late. You squared your shoulders and cleared your throat before closing the final few steps.

"Bradley?"

He spun around on his barstool at your voice. The abrupt motion caused him to almost drop his phone, but it made you smile. Once his eyes settled on you it was like everything stopped. The bar got quiet, you didn't notice the girl next to you complaining about her drink, and the hockey game on TV faded into the background - you just noticed Bradley.

A smile crept across his face as he said your name in turn and you nodded. Your stomach was going crazy with butterflies and your heart was pounding so hard, you were convinced Bradley could see the outline through your pink dress. His voice was warm and raspy and had your insides turning into honey.

"It's nice to see you - " He gave you a full hug that was over far too soon. God he smelled so good, too. "- Here, have a seat. Do you want a drink?"

"You too." You took his hand and got on the barstool, placing your clutch on the table and glancing around the bar. "Ummm, what're you having?"

"An old fashioned - sorry," he shook himself and glanced back down at his drink sheepishly, "you just look really pretty."

You cheeks warmed under his stare and you bit your lip. If your knee nudged his underneath the bar-top then that was just an accident. "Thanks, I'll uh - I'll have a margarita?"

Bradley was either really smart or really lucky when he ordered your margarita with your preferred tequila - you only had to pipe up to request salt on the rim.

And then it was just easy. Everything just fell into place. You talked about your time at UVA - he even got you to admit that you were a Tri-Delta after he admitted to being Sigma Chi philanthropy chair -your favorite restaurants and neighborhoods in San Diego, and your job, which Bradley endearingly thought was fascinating - something you wouldn't exactly agree with, but it was flattering all the same.

And it was only because of the easy conversation and banter between the two of you that you finally felt comfortable bringing up your most burning question all evening:

“So, what’s with the bar?” you asked, looking around with a teasing smile on your face. Bradley cocked his head. “I mean, is it just me or is like every naval officer within a forty mile radius here?”

And then the night took a turn...

don't forget to read part 1 to see how the date goes 😉

a/n: so this was just something small to tide me over before i post my next fic about thanksgiving! hope you all liked it!

[dropouttvpollbrackets]

Most Hinged Dropout Cast Member (Finals)

PLEASE NOTE: This poll is for the most hinged person. For the ongoing main bracket judging people on unhingedness, click here

Click here for more info on this mini-bracket

[gentrychild]

I feel that Fanfic Sports Festival is kind of a domino effect. Everyone starts by thinking they have only one change, and it holds up as one little change through the obstacle course. For example Izuku has a different Quirk, or they are promoting their ship character. But then Cavalry Battle? That one change means different strategy, means different team, means more different teams! And then they get to the tournament and the whole bracket changed. Rest in peace, brevity, for the want of a nail you fell.

You are right. There is definitely a domino effect, and I also think that it's because it's only when you're writing the Sport Festival that you realize that it has a lot of ramifications for the rest of the story: Izuku breaking his bones on live television is the reason why he gets no offer except Gran Torino, you have Todoroki's entire character development hinging on that arc, you have Bakugou winning and being chained to the podium, which prompts the LoV's decision to kidnap him, you also get Shinsou's introduction, you have the Vestiges appearing for the first time, and so on.

And that's only the canon stuff! I am not even talking about the changes the writers want to include! So yes, the Sport Festival is definitely luring you in with sweet words such as "Don't worry, I am not that important, everyone read me a thousand times" and once you're there, it goes "Whoops, guess you're going to have to think long and hard of how I change your story. :D", which is just mean.

[bl-bracket]

Introducing the next BL Bracket: Most Unhinged in a BL!

Which characters are the most off the rails? Who is the least normal guy (gender neutral) in the room? Whose hinges have long since blown off and are doing things that are so out of pocket the second you think about them even a little bit?

Remind you of someone? Well, now is the time for all unhinged characters to battle it out for the title of most unhinged in our next BL Bracket!

Rules are in the pinned post and the submission form.

Submit them here!

Submissions close: June 8th @ 7 PM (GMT)

@tournament-announcer

[bellasfortuna]

been playing a lot of That's Not My Neighbor and it got me brainrotting on the idea of what if you were a doorman for a military compound during a doppelganger outbreak, and the residents were the 141/co. so here's a blurb

TW: body horror, mentions of murder, explicit threats of bodily harm

The sound of the door locking shut with a loud clank resounded through the tight entry hallway. It felt like every sound always echoed if not thundered through the tiny office and small box sized hallway that was bracketed by the door leading outside the compound and the door leading into the compound, the reinforced steel and shatterproof glass felt as constricting as they did protective.

Laswell's warning to me when I accepted this job, passed the initial tests, the initial psych eval and physical tests, kept running through my mind: "The compound is a safe and secure environment, and the first level of protection hinges on your job. Do your job and do it well. The safety of everyone in the compound hangs in the balance if you don't."

Of course, the unspoken part, I also understood. This was a military compound, housing some of the world's most trained and deadly soldiers. People who were more than capable of, and in the past had, disposing of doppelgangers. When your life revolved around tactical warfare and covert operations and living and breathing danger, even the true capacity of unknown danger that the doppelgangers encompassed couldn't phase you. If I did fail, let one through, inside the first layer of secure walls, there were more failsafes, more deadly soldiers, who could handle it; but that didn't mean there wouldn't be casualties. And as the least trained and arguably least deadly (even in a world where I passed the minimum requirements to work on base, physicality and weapons training included), I would be the first casualty.

None of that was going through my head the first time I saw one of them, really saw one of them, in that tiny entryway, with the only barrier between us being the shatterproof glass and reinforced steel frame. It was easier, when the paperwork was clearly forged, the slam of the protective metal shutter and the blaring alarm, they didn't sound so horrifying, jarring, yes, but not horrifying. I could disconnect from the idea that something unspeakable, something I definitely didn't want to know about or the specifics of, was happening behind the metal shutter with the cleaning crew and the doppelgangers I was calling them for. It didn't feel real.

"Y' think yer safe, inside tha' tiny box, they don't care 'bout you, they prolly don't even know yer name, they wouldn't come if ye screamed while my claws sank into yer soft skin, ripped the screams right outta yer pretty throat, so open the door," it hissed, voice dripping with malice and barbed vitriol. It wore Mactavish's face, but it was all wrong, gone was the rugged handsomeness the Scot usually bore. Gone was the chiseled jaw and stormy blue eyes, in his place was something unnatural, something dangerous. Face slightly bloated and too bulky, it had too many eyes, wide and bloodshot and glaring icily at me through the window.